Fall in May

~13~ The End of Days.

"Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it." ~ George Santayana. 

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After lunch with May, the rest of my day is spent drifting through like a slow low tide. My first post-lunch class is U.S. Government with literally the most boring human on the face of the planet, Teacher Ancient History. I literally have to challenge myself to find something sublimely interesting about the man, besides the geraniums dying next to the window. Because as soon as the bell rings, this crooner clears his throat and beings reading straight out from the introduction to the book, so we can all follow along with him into the mystery that is history.

Slowly droning out word for painful word in a precisely measured metronome cadence, and with such careful clarity of pronunciation, it's mesmerizing in its brutal beauty. He is only a quarter the way through the first page of his deadly rendition of the intoxicating introduction to democracy, and I am almost sold on naming him Mr. Murder. Not just because history is mostly about how killing alters the flow of the power paradigm of empires, but cause this dude is killing it!  And when I say he's killing it, I mean every single one of us looks like we want to die. Even the greying geraniums on the windowsill are starting to look slightly suicidal ...but ...in ...super ...slow ...motion. 

Everyone and their sister wants out of ossuary so bad its killing us, but there are only two bathroom passes. All the locals look like their gonna slay the two lucky two flockers who were smart enough to nab the "Get out of jail free cards" first and bolt for freedom. This guy is so good at taking control, he's already made us turn on each other like rats trapped in a cage. It's only the first day and we will already do anything to get out of here, including murder. I can already hear the screaming match starting in my head. "Give me that flocking get out pass, before I rat scratch your eyes out!"

I have to fight myself just to stay conscious, as his mesmerizing metronome drone is so soothingly deadly. Two minutes in and I can already feel my mind start to slip sideways to a better place. One girl by the front door makes the mistake of falling asleep in the middle of his stirring rendition of the Authors Introduction to the Fundamental Principles of Governance in Pre-Revolutionary Americana. The sonorous crooning barely slows as he ghosts ethereally down the row and drops a deathly detention on her desk. Where it gently floats down like a feather, next to her peacefully sleeping face. 

No warning, no indication of pending doom until it happens and ...BOOM! You're dead at the hands of a silent killer before you've even realized you were asleep. So I immediately name him Drone Strike, or "Striker" for short, because he is literally death-from-above. And the saddest part of all of this is, that I don't think he's even doing it on purpose? I am thinking that this is just who this psychopomp is, fulfilling his deathly duty and seeing the souls off to a better place. 

I really have to wonder as to why most Americans don't know how things really work in The Gov't. My theory is that they train an army of Drone Strikes to go out and subconsciously slip the illusion of what democracy used to be into the unsuspecting after lunch nappy time crowd. Oh, and the real kicker is ...it turns out that I'm in the smart kid class.  

Yeah, wrap your head around that light pole. They stuck all the slightly smarter, potential revolting types in with Drone Strike for a little after lunch nap. With only two "Get out of jail free" pee pee passes? I swear to the Sea, it's like they want us to turn all Orwellian on each other.

So after droning through History with Striker, I sleepwalk my way to my coloring class with Teacher Art. Art class seems pretty chill on the outset, with the all usual Artiste types. Mixed in with a few aspiring bong makers, who look like they got lost on the way to shop class. Teacher Art introduces himself and tells us all to call him "Art". Then Teacher Art talks a lot about how transformative he felt about some art stuff he saw over the summer while living large in The Big City. I have a very bad feeling that I am going to be hearing a lot about his "feelings" about things over the course of the semester.